The Boys Are
by SyrenHug
Summary: The cast of Alive are a group of misfits. They are still children, still figuring it all out. But, at least, they're doing it. Slash. Slight dark fic. Not really.
1. Chapter 1

I'm already writing chapter three and it's all just- ugh. If your looking for happy then I would suggest leaving.

Pairings: Are screwed up and insane. But at this point I can safely say Seiichi/Syusuke is one of them. The rest are blegh.

Warnings: Sex. Incest. Self-harm. Language. That last one isn't going to be changing any time soon. All of them have potty mouths. Except Atobe because he's prissy.

Note: Next up is Oshitari.

* * *

_"He tells me its going to be okay until all the words blur together into a hum that makes me close my eyes and I start to go away and five, ten, fifteen minutes later, I'm aware of my hand sliding down his lap and then nothingness and then the gentle sensation of his index finger pressing into my open palm and then his hand is at my face, running his fingers across my skin and I'm so awake."_

* * *

"You're late."

Ryoma pursed his lips, only flinching slightly when the make-up girl dusted some toner across his face with a deliberately rough hand. Bitch. The assistant sound guy adjusted his microphone just right under his shirt and there -done. He turned to Tezuka, smiling his patented Noah smile.

"I wasn't late. Everyone else was just early."

He heard a snort but ignored it. Tezuka did not look taken with his charm. Then again, the director of photography never looked anything, really. "We're rolling in two."

There was a light brush against his arm. He glanced beside him to a jumpy Eiji. The redhead was sitting casually on the bed where they would be talking to each other about their mutual feelings for the same person. Ryoma hated his character- Noah- but thought Max, Eiji's gentle, sweet character, was the perfect representation of his cast mate.

Eiji's voice was chipper but understanding. He was so understanding. It was disgusting. "Late night?"

All nights were late nights. All nights were quiet screams and broken glass. He shrugged, more for something to do than anything. "Where's everybody?"

"It's Niou's day off. Everybody else is here."

Which meant seeing Atobe. He grimaced then walked over to the bed when someone called for ten seconds more. Eiji smiled softly. "Ready?"

"Always."

* * *

Ryoma slammed the door so hard it shook. Sighing, he leaned against the bathroom door. "Why the fuck am I on this shitty as fuck show, anyway?"

"Eloquent as always, Ryoma."

The drawling, taunting voice of his nightmares crawled towards him as he narrowed his eyes. He could hear the sound of coughing in one of the stalls, a murmured sound of soothing. And there the king was- fixing his hair.

"Go fuck yourself." He snapped and smirked when Keigo paused. "Or did Tezuka already do that for you?"

The stall shuttered open with a loud click. Fuji sauntered out, flashing blue eyes daring them to comment as he pulled Yukimura along by the hand. Ryoma could smell the sharp smell of vomit and wondered- in a minute of pure callousness- which one had caused it.

"Would you guys be quiet? Seiichi doesn't feel well."

He ignored the warning flick of Atobe's hand, studying Yukimura's unsteady frame, hazy expression. "Alcohol does that to you."

Fuji didn't falter in his quick departure, but he saw the tightening of his lips and accepted the guilt he felt for it. At least, it was something. Atobe faced him, oh-so careful not to touch anything because he was so much better then the daily-cleaned studio bathrooms.

"Haven't cut yourself today?"

Ryoma hated him. He'd never hated a person so much before. Though, in his own fucked up way, this was Atobe expressing concern. This was him worried. It twisted a knob somewhere. The world blurred together and he needed to be alone. "Leave."

"You can't just-" Midnight blue weaved through him. They saw. He was the only one who ever saw.

"My trailer has a better bathroom, anyway."

It wasn't until the man's footsteps faded away that he locked himself in the big stall. The floor was too cold. He shivered, bunching into himself for warmth. Fingers were interesting substitutes for knives and he pressed his nails against his wrist, deep enough to scrape some skin. Satisfying. Pain made you proud.

He knew, in awhile, he'd have to go home. There was nothing left to film, know one to talk to. But it was nice-just then. Easy.

* * *

Actually, hands were better knives, Ryoma found out. His brother was running them all over his body. Pulling off his clothes. The dark mocked him with its veil of privacy. Everything awful was hidden by the dark. He moaned when his thighs were planted with seeds of kisses.

Once, he'd told Ryoga he didn't want to have sex anymore and his brother had been stocked full of disbelief. "You love me. Why wouldn't you want to?"

_Why, Ryoma? Why?_

His body set itself on fire, slowly kicking into a generator of flames. His body encouraged the kisses. His body begged for it as his hands unconsciously slipped inside a field of hair so dark and straight- much like his own.

But his mind cried _wrong. _It whispered static words that his signal couldn't always pick up. Brothers. Lovers. No. Wrong. Love. He waited for his brother's breathing to even out before he put himself together again.

"You know why?" He carved a kiss inside of Ryoga's wrist. It tasted of salty regret. "Because you don't love me."

* * *

Scene (Just because I was bored. It's not the real one.):

Max cleared his throat. He was fiddling with his hands. The light filtering out of the window was bright in a way that showcased the clarity of his eyes. "I like Alexander."

"Oh," Noah blinked, surprised by the revelation. "Oh."

"Yeah."

It was silent. Noah stared at the ceiling. Said, "It's okay. I like him too."

They turned to each other and then looked away. Max bit his lip. "He likes girls."

"Yeah."

"It sucks."

"Yeah." Noah repeated. He bounced lightly, one, twice, three times. Max's mouth curved into a grin. For that moment, they were kids. Shiny, new. Alright.

"Want to go play video games?"

"Yeah."

And both of them sprinted down the stairs, laughing along the way.


	2. Chapter 2

Weirdest thing to add to cookie batter? Apples.

When is this going to be even remotely a dark fic? Next chapter, maybe.

Pairings: Now official: Oshitari/ Marui and Syusuke/Seiichi (even though not really)

Warnings: Language. A lot. I don't care about the rest.

Note: I bled from my eyes writing this. I'm not touching the next chapter for at least three days.

* * *

_"You know how you feel when you meet someone and they just give you the impression they're living on this entirely different planet from everyone else? That's sort of how I felt when I met you."_

* * *

Oshitari didn't like watching Niou. The man was smooth. Smooth enough to get girls to bend themselves backwards until they broke themselves apart. Smooth enough to tell lies so well they became truth. Smooth enough that he didn't want anything else but the sleek surface.

He left the loud music and girls fawning over Niou because he was famous. Fuck them. Fuck _him_. The lighter trembled in his palm. Cigarettes. He needed cigarettes. What kind of a smoker was he?

"I thought you were too cool for bad habits?"

His mouth quirked, amused at the greeting. Marui was always late. Always. It was his self-appointed thing. "I know you have one on you."

"Why, Yushi," His cast mate huffed, batting baby amethyst eyes. The shorts he was wearing were way too short and his shirt was practically non-existent. For some reason girls thought his style was cute. Oshitari just thought it was slutty. "I'd never."

He gave Marui a _look_.

The man just laughed, fishing in his back pocket and there was no way his eyes wandered even a little bit. Not at all. A small hand passed him a box. He clicked his tongue when he realized it was a pack of bubblegum.

"You're such a bitch."

"Love you too." Marui smirked, but the plastic wrapped quality of the words carried through the alley air oddly.

"What's going on?"

It wasn't like him to ask questions, to care. Everyone knew him as disconnected; an unpaid phone bill. Even Niou joked about him being some what of an asshole. Which was hypocrisy if he'd ever known it. Just because he cared too much for the man didn't mean he was blind.

What did they say, though? Love was blind? Maybe it was the opposite. Maybe when you loved, you saw so much that you hurt your eyes and you didn't _want_ to see anymore.

Oshitari realized, after a few seconds, that Marui hadn't answered. His cast mate was staring at him with a thoughtful seam of thread between his brows. Finally, he licked his lips and stepped back. He hadn't even realized they'd been so close in the first place.

"Yushi-"

The door to the alley banged open. Niou hopped out, blue eyes curious but vague. He must have taken note of their positions because he asked, "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Oshitari answered quickly. His heart was thrumming and he couldn't figure out why. "Nothing at all."

Niou shrugged, turning to go back. "We're leaving in ten."

Such an asshole. Hardly acknowledging anyone beneath his throne. He treated Marui and Ryoma worse of all. He bit out a, "Whatever." Twitched when the door shut again. Fuck he really needed some cigarettes

Suddenly, his hand was unclenched ever so gently and filled. "You know, it's okay to hate him sometimes."

He sucked it in but just watched as Marui walked away, hands in his pocket, head tucked downwards. Oshitari opened his fist. Two cigarettes and piece of paper. He sighed, fingering the obviously hastily scrawled note.

His number. He'd been given the redhead's number.

* * *

He went over to Niou's in the morning because they had to work and the man hated to get up before noon. Well, so did he. But, at least, he was an adult about it.

Oshitari decided to use the key he'd been given when a certain someone was so drunk they could barely even figure out how to work out a goddamn lock. The door creaked rather noisily but he doubted it was enough to wake anyone up.

The loft was nice, but he knew for a fact that Keigo's was nicer. Nobody could get more elegant then the Atobe's. They owned islands. That was a clear sign of being rich.

"Wake up." He called, bypassing the kitchen to get to the bedrooms. Niou's door was wide open so he figured he was safe from any random accessories that might have been brought home.

"We have work. Get u-"

It took him ten seconds to realize that there was more then one person in the bed. A minute to freeze, to harden himself because Niou eyes were fluttering open and the guy- Oshitari hoped he never found out his name- was flushing. Pretty. He wanted to throw up.

"Get up. Tezuka'll be pissed if you're late again."

"Oshitari." Niou said and he paused. His cast mate sounded almost angry. "You could've told me before you ditched me last night."

"You could've told me a lot of things, as well. And you didn't."

They stared at each other. Then, Oshitari shrugged in defeat and he was gone.

* * *

Kenya blinked then narrowed his eyes. It was a good look for his cousin. Everything was a good look for his cousin- he was an internationally successful model. He had to admit, his cousin was plenty attractive.

But, it was his _cousin_.

"I'm going to kill him."

He raised an eyebrow. "And how long have you been a trained assassin?"

It was like he wasn't even there. Oshitari let his cousin rant, thinking over the single cigarette in his pocket and the number. He knew it by heart. _784-9233_. He sighed. What good would come of it? What harm would it do?

Kenya's voice brought him out of his reflections. "What made you love him, anyway?"

Nothing had made him love anyone. It wasn't force; it wasn't anything he had done. Or, maybe it was. Maybe it was everything Niou did. At the same time, he knew that he'd never wanted to tear one person apart more. He'd never been so disgusted.

Then, he thought of Marui. There were pleasant things. Inside jokes at boring parties, scenes they'd been mashed together in. He'd never been so awed.

"Your friends with Marui, right?"

"We're alright. He dated one of my friends so we saw a lot of each other at one point." His cousin eyed him, speculating. "Why?"

Oshitari didn't even want to try to explain. He didn't even know himself. Just-

_784-9233_.

"Whatever it is your brooding over is probably worth it."

_784-9233_.

"Yes. It probably is."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey. What's going on?"

"Can I come over?"

A pause. The receiver of the call's voice hushed. "Sure."

"I'll see you."

"Yeah."

The dial tone hummed.

* * *

He'd thought it would be awkward. He'd thought there would be stretches of silences that ran so thin they had to do something, anything to get it to break. Oshitari didn't know it would be so easy.

"What are we doing?" Oshitari tried to add up the ingredients in his head to make up some kind of recipe- but what the hell were those bag of apples doing on the counter? He backed away, frightened.

Marui smiled and he didn't think he'd ever seen someone look at him so warmly before. "Making cookies."

"There are apples."

"What's wrong with apples?"

They were screwed. "Depends on where you're putting them."

"A great magician never reveals his secrets." The redhead said dramatically, ripping the bag apart and taking an apple out.

Most assuredly screwed.

Thirty minutes later found them on the kitchen floor, eating some cookie dough and waiting for the cookies to finish. He could feel the flour in his hair and wanted to smile. They had gotten into a argument over whether which of their characters was better and it'd turned into a flour fight.

He reached across, when saw Marui dip his finger in the bowl again, and brushed his finger against the man's cheek. The smell of apples and chocolate pushed him to run his hands farther down to a lightly muscled arm.

The redhead tensed, his lips parted in surprise. "What are you doing?"

It was a good question. "You had flour there."

"Liar." But it was a tease and he wasn't being stopped. He continued until his fingers were performing ballet on the other's legs. They were long and milky. Oshitari's body was electric energy powerful enough to fuel half of the city. He leaned forward, close enough to bump noses. The redhead's nose scrunched adorably.

For a second, he thought of Niou. All picture perfect hair and tall stature. But it was chased away by the hurt of seeing another man in a bed inside a room he'd hardly ever been allowed to even stand in. And, yes, it stung. But he needed to let it go. It was half past time.

"I could be using you."

"Yushi." God, had Marui always said his name like that? "You're too much of a nice guy to use anybody."

He chuckled lightly. Hovering- still- above thin, pink lips. "I've been told I can be kind of an asshole."

"Sometimes. But I like you better that way."

Oshitari didn't know who kissed who first, but it didn't matter. He soaked in the rough warmth of the sun and, inevitable when the rain would come, he took it as a sign to dance though the storm.

* * *

Light laughter. "There's definitely not any flour in there."

"Shut up."

The cookies burned.

* * *

Next up: Fuji's chapter.


End file.
